


Holmes and his Watsons

by SCFrankles



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes is introduced to Watson's sister and takes her on a case. </p><p>Which leads to a story that has suspect clergymen, breaking and entering, weddings, silliness and no psychological depth whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes and his Watsons

**Author's Note:**

> Though strangely resistant to the possibility there are more than two Holmes siblings, I do have as my headcanon that Watson has several sisters...
> 
> Thank you to [Small_Hobbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit) for the beta. (What a woman.) All remaining mistakes are the author's responsibility. 
> 
> Holmes and Watson were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> * * *

It was quite a puzzle. Just what was Watson doing wearing a dress in his sitting room?

Holmes approached cautiously.

He turned the available data over in his mind. Firstly: when he had arrived at Watson’s home and asked to see the master of the house, the maid had demonstrated no embarrassment. She had shown him straight in, before leaving to fetch tea. Secondly: though the figure before him at the writing desk had the unmistakable profile of his friend, the moustache was not so heavy. And were there perhaps a few more curves than he remembered? Ah. It all fell into place—the solution was…

“I see you’ve met my sister.”

Holmes turned to find Watson standing beside him.

“We haven’t been formally introduced yet,” said Holmes.

Watson’s sister looked up then from her letter and gave both men a searching look. Watson flinched ever so slightly.

“Holmes, this is my eldest sister, Miss Agnes Watson. Agnes, this is my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

Holmes crossed the room. “Delighted to meet you, Miss Watson.”

Miss Watson offered her hand and Holmes took it. “I’m delighted to meet you too, Mr. Holmes. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I must admit I did not know Watson had a sister,” said Holmes. “I’m surprised we didn’t meet at the wedding.”

Watson came forward to join them.

“I have four elder sisters in fact,” he said. “Catherine, Charlotte and May in Canada and Agnes in Australia. None of them were able to come for the wedding, but Agnes has managed a visit now. Just for three months.” Watson appeared to be attempting a smile. “A month so far. Just two months to go.”

Holmes narrowed his eyes and observed Watson closely. Was he perhaps not entirely happy to have his sister staying with him? More data needed.

But then Mrs. Watson entered, her face lighting up when she saw him.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes!” She rushed forward. “How lovely to see you! Will you stay for tea?”

“Of course…” said Holmes. He took a step backwards.

Miss Watson stood. “I’ll just go and hurry that girl up.” She looked at her sister-in-law as she exited. “You’re far too easy-going with the servants, Mary.”

Mrs. Watson watched her sister-in-law go and then sat down heavily on the settee. She looked up at Holmes.

“It’s been so lovely having Agnes to stay,” she said. “She’s helped me so much, telling me how to run the household. I just don’t know how I would have managed without her. And she’s staying for another two months! How wonderful! Lucky, lucky me!”

She laughed rather wildly and Holmes furrowed his brow. Was he missing something?

“But do sit down, Mr. Holmes.”

“Thank you.” Holmes sat down beside Mrs. Watson on the settee and Watson sat in his armchair. There was silence for a moment.

“So..? Have you come to ask me to help with a case..?” said Watson.

His wife whipped round to look at him. “You are not leaving me with—!” She glanced at Holmes. “With all the household duties to do.”

“But I have been helping with the… _household duties_ for a month,” said Watson, looking sideways at Holmes. Holmes gave him a puzzled smile and Watson turned back to his wife. “I am going out of my mind.”

“So am I! And she’s _your…_ household duties.”

All those years of training had not been in vain. Holmes felt himself beginning to crawl towards the truth.

He cleared his throat. “I had come to ask Watson if he’d like to be at Baker Street when I interview a client.”

Watson beamed.

“But…” continued Holmes, “I realise it would not be a good idea to take him away from his home at this time.”

Watson’s face fell.

“So perhaps if I were to invite Miss Watson to accompany me instead...?”

The Watsons smiled simultaneously. “Excellent idea, old fellow!” said the doctor.

“I agree!” said Mrs. Watson.

And perfectly on cue Miss Watson re-entered—the maid behind her carrying a tray with the tea things. Miss Watson stopped and looked at her brother and sister-in-law’s smiles with suspicion.

“Agnes,” said Watson, “how would you like to spend a day with Holmes?”

 

 

And so Holmes and Miss Watson found themselves taking tea at Baker Street with Mr. Alfred Cuthbertson, a young American gentleman.

“I feel a little foolish now bothering you with this, Mr. Holmes,” he said fiddling with his cup. “My suspicions seem so vague and insubstantial.”

“But your case seems to hold promise of being rather interesting,” said Holmes. “Pray do continue.”

“Well,” said Mr. Cuthbertson, glancing between Holmes and Miss Watson, “as I say, my brother and I were born here but our late parents took us to live in the United States when we were quite small boys. My brother recently met an English girl over there who was working as a governess, and they decided they wanted to get married. Alice—that’s my brother’s fiancée—wanted to come back home to get married and my brother agreed. I don’t have any other family, so I thought I’d come over too. Give the old country a try.”

He sipped his tea.

“And you came ahead?” prompted Holmes.

“Yes,” said Cuthbertson, putting his cup down on the table. “Alice had to work out her notice, and my brother had some business matters to wind up. I was to travel first and find places for us to stay. So I found rooms for my brother and myself, and a respectable boarding house for Alice.”

He paused for a moment. “We have only one contact in England—my brother’s godfather, the Reverend Simpkins. An old friend of our parents. He’s an Englishman but he had also been living abroad for many years. I hadn’t seen him since I was two years old but we all kept in contact with the occasional letter, and in his last one Rev. Simpkins told us he would be going back to England as he’d been appointed to a parish to London. I gather that the church and the adjoining vicarage had both been severely damaged in a fire and had stood empty for some years but now the church’s renovation was almost complete. And the house was ready for Rev. Simpkins to take immediate possession, though he would have no duties yet.”

“What a delightful coincidence that he should be returning at the same time as your family!” said Miss Watson.

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Mr. Cuthbertson. “We all felt so, and Alice and my brother had discussed the possibility of his godfather marrying them.”

He hesitated. “I have to admit I felt somewhat lonesome once I was here in London on my own. So my second day here, I sent the reverend a note, explaining about my brother’s intended marriage and asking if we could meet to discuss it. He replied, saying he would be delighted to see me again. He explained he had just taken possession of his new vicarage that very day but if I didn’t mind a bit of mess, he would be happy to see me tomorrow.”

“Was his note handwritten?” asked Holmes.

“Oh, yes,” said Cuthbertson. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out some papers. He handed them over to Holmes who studied them with interest. “There you have the note, and the Reverend Simpkins’s last letter to us.”

“Do continue,” said Holmes, gesturing without looking up.

“The next day I went to visit him,” said Mr. Cuthbertson. “I was feeling quite cheerful at seeing a friendly face, even one from so long ago. However, when I rang the bell and he came to the door, he seemed rather distant. I wondered if maybe he didn’t realise who I was. Well, I had grown up a fair bit since we’d last met. I don’t think I’d have recognised him if I hadn’t seen him in his clergyman’s clothes. So I gave my name and explained. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I read your note. I’m afraid it isn’t convenient to see you today.’ This rather threw me—he’d seemed so enthusiastic before. But I didn’t want to interfere if he was busy, so I asked if could come back another day. When this didn’t seem to meet with approval, I asked if I could at least send my brother and his fiancée along to see him, when they arrived in the country in a few days. ‘In a few days?’ he said. ‘Yes, that should be all right. Send them along then—I’ll be happy to see Brychford and Alice.’ But instead of ‘Brike-ford’, he pronounced it as ‘Britch-ford’.”

“Ah…” said Holmes.

However, Miss Watson interrupted. “It is an unusual name. Perhaps merely a slip through not having to say it aloud in so long?”

Holmes frowned at her.

“Yes, but…” began Cuthbertson.

“Oh, I see!” cried Miss Watson. “He’s your brother’s godfather and your brother was named after him!”

Cuthbertson nodded.

 

 

“I must say that was rather intriguing,” said Miss Watson, as they travelled back to the Watson household in a cab. She leaned towards Holmes confidentially. “And it was nice to get out of the house for a while—it is lovely to visit my brother and his wife but there are so many domestic duties I have to sort out.”

Holmes nodded. “Mrs. Watson was explaining how much of a help you were. But I think I may have to be selfish and keep you from her to assist in my work. I was most impressed that you made that deduction.”

Miss Watson waved away the praise, but there was a small smile on her face.

“I think you show some promise in the science of deduction,” said Holmes. “Shall we discuss the case?”

“How thrilling!” said Miss Watson. “Yes, indeed.”

“So,” said Holmes, “to begin: the situation seems quite plain. The Reverend Simpkins sends a note in his own handwriting, saying he would be happy to see Mr. Cuthbertson; the next day he is keen to avoid the young man…”

“And can’t pronounce his own name,” said Miss Watson.

Holmes smiled. “Indeed. So what would be your conclusion, Miss Watson?”

“I would say,” said Miss Watson, furrowing her brow, “that there may have been a substitution…”

“Excellent!” said Holmes. “I think you are going to be of the greatest assistance to me. Already you have shown yourself to be an admirable woman.”

He took her hand. “Miss Watson, I have a proposal for you.”

 

 

“You two look as though you’ve had a good afternoon,” smiled Watson when Holmes and his sister returned.

“Indeed!” said Holmes. “Your sister and I have made some progress in the case. And I think I could be so bold as to say we have already become friends.” He escorted Miss Watson to a chair. “Oh! And it would probably be wise of me to let you know that Miss Watson has agreed to be my betrothed.”

Watson and his wife stared at Holmes.

“John,” said Mrs. Watson after a pause, “I feel a little faint.”

“Dearest,” said Watson, “so do I.”

He toppled slowly forwards.

 

 

Watson came round in his armchair: his wife kneeling beside him, holding his hand; Holmes and his sister looking down at him.

Watson looked from one to the other. “Holmes, Agnes—I’m so sorry. I… Well, it was a shock.”

Holmes began to speak but Watson interrupted him. “No, let me just say this. Holmes, I would be honoured to have you as a brother-in-law.” He turned to his sister. “And, Agnes, there is nothing I would like better than for you to be Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.”

There was the sound of a manly sob being supressed and Miss Watson sighed.

“Do be quiet, you ridiculous boy. Of course, Mr. Holmes and I aren’t _truly_ getting married. It’s for the case.”

“We have to pretend to be a betrothed couple arranging our wedding in order to speak to a suspect vicar,” said Holmes.

Mrs. Watson started to laugh. “Oh! Oh, of course!”

“Oh, thank God!” said Watson. He looked at Holmes sheepishly. “I do feel a fool.” Then he frowned. “Hold on though, will you be putting my sister in danger?”

“John,” said Miss Watson. “I am a grown woman, and am quite capable of…”

“And it does mean that dear Agnes will be able to get out of the house a little more,” said Mrs. Watson, trying to catch her husband’s eye.

Watson staggered to his feet. “Henry is no longer with us, so that makes me the head of the family. And I refuse to allow Agnes to be plunged into danger.”

“Watson,” said Holmes. “There will be no danger. And for the interview, I will be expected to bring a fiancée.”

“Well, I don’t see why I can’t do it!” declared Watson.

Holmes and Miss Watson opened their mouths simultaneously but Watson held up a hand.

“I mean, I don’t see why I can’t be the potential _bridegroom._ Then I can be personally responsible for Agnes’ safety.”

Holmes gestured between Watson and his sister. “My dear boy, you and your sister bear an unmistakable resemblance. It would immediately arouse suspicion.”

Holmes glanced at Miss Watson and they smiled at each other. “I promise you, Watson, that I will look after Miss Watson as if she were my own sister.”

 

 

The next morning ‘Mr. Brychford Cuthbertson’ and ‘Miss Alice Mercer’ set off for the vicarage of St. Anne’s in Croydon.

It proved to be a small church and vicarage with a graveyard situated between the two buildings. At the church they paused and Holmes attempted to go inside but it was locked up securely.

“The building work appears finished though,” said Holmes. “I don’t think it can be long before they reopen it.”

They made their way to the vicarage and slowly walked around it, pretending to admire the house in order to allow Holmes to study it. He made his way up to the kitchen window, avoiding a simple wooden cross as he went.

“It’s odd,” said Miss Watson, reading the dedication on it to two sisters, “how the graves come up so close to the back of the house.”

“Not a terribly pleasing vista for anyone working in the kitchen,” agreed Holmes stepping away from the window.

He smiled at Miss Watson. “Well, now I think it’s time to see our clergyman.”

 

 

It was their suspect himself who opened the door. He gazed at them puzzled.

Holmes raised his hat. “Brychford Cuthbertson,” he said in a perfect imitation of Alfred Cuthbertson’s accent. “And this is my fiancée Miss Alice Mercer. I believe you spoke to my brother two days ago?”

“Yes…” said Simpkins. He was already trying to ease the door shut on them. “I’m afraid this truly isn’t a convenient time. Perhaps if you came back next week…”

“Oh, please!” said Miss Watson. “We won’t take up much of your time.”

“We just want to discuss a few details about our wedding and then we’ll leave you in peace,” said Holmes.

Simpkins hesitated. “Well, I suppose in that case…”

“Excellent!” said Holmes. He moved forward firmly and the Reverend Simpkins had no choice but to open the door wide. But then both he and Miss Watson watched puzzled as Holmes wiped his feet on the mat rather too thoroughly.

Holmes looked up at Simpkins and smiled. “I wouldn’t want to make work for your housekeeper, tracking mud into the house.”

“I don’t have any servants yet,” said Simpkins. He gestured down the hallway. “Won’t you both come through to the sitting room?”

“I had to make sure he had no possible accomplices in the house,” whispered Holmes to Miss Watson as they followed the clergyman.

Miss Watson nodded.

 

 

“I was a little surprised to see you and your fiancée,” the Reverend Simpkins said to Holmes, once the three of them were seated. “Your brother Alfred gave me to understand you hadn’t arrived in England yet.”

“We arrived just last night,” said Holmes. “And we want to arrange our marriage as soon as possible. We are eager to embark on our new life here.” He turned to Miss Watson and raised his eyebrows slightly.

Miss Watson took her cue. “We’d like to discuss the order of service: the hymns and so on. And what flowers you would find appropriate.”

“Well, I think that would be a little precipitate. If you want to arrange a date that would be perfectly satisfactory,” said Simpkins. “But there will be a wait naturally before you can marry. There are the banns and so on…” He began to stand. “Now, I really must ask you to go. I have a lot of work to do and…”

Holmes and Miss Watson glanced at each other. Miss Watson assumed a resolute expression and turned back to Simpkins.

“Oh, no!” she said. “We have a special licence—we can get married immediately!”

“Yes, of course,” beamed Holmes. “A special licence.” He directed his smile at Miss Watson.

Simpkins sat down again. “But the church won’t be open until the day after tomorrow. On Friday.”

“Then we’ll get married on Friday.” Miss Watson started rummaging in her handbag. “I’ve made a few notes…”

Simpkins tried to protest but she ignored him.

Miss Watson turned to Holmes. “Dearest, I think I must have dropped my notes. Would you go and look for them?”

“Yes, of course, my angel.” He looked at Simpkins. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

“But…”

“I won’t be long.”

And Holmes quickly left the room, closing the door behind him. Miss Watson had played her part to perfection—it was time to put the rest of the plan into operation.

 

 

He examined the ground floor first, and soon discovered that all the other rooms were unoccupied. He tried the door to the cellar. That was unlocked and Holmes looked inside: there was a large pile of coal and indications of digging in the cellar earth floor but no sign of anything more sinister.

Rapidly climbing the stairs, he reached the next floor but found nothing amiss. He carried on up a further flight of stairs, which led to what was presumably an attic room for a servant. This was locked. Holmes knelt and briefly examined the carpet and standing, knocked gently on the door. However there was no sign of life from within. Frowning, he made his way downstairs again and back to the room where he’d left Miss Watson and the clergyman. Just before he entered, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, adjusted his features to a smile and then opened the door.

“I found your notes!” he said, waving the paper.

“Oh, wonderful!” said Miss Watson. “But I think I managed to relate it all to Rev. Simpkins by memory.”

“Indeed…” said Simpkins in an apparent daze.

Miss Watson looked at Holmes. “So should we go?”

“Yes, I think we’ve taken up enough of Rev. Simpkins’s time.”

Miss Watson and Simpkins rose, and Holmes offered his hand to the clergyman. “So we will see you on Friday for the wedding,” said Holmes.

“Of course, of course...” Simpkins ushered his visitors out.

 

 

Once they were away from the vicarage, Holmes gave a short laugh.

“I think perhaps he’ll be grateful he’ll be in custody by Friday, rather than having to marry us!”

“But what did you discover?” asked Miss Watson. “Is that man truly not the Reverend Simpkins?”

Holmes became sober again. “There were signs on the carpet of food having been taken up to the attic bedroom. It was locked and I could hear no sounds coming from inside but I would wager that is where the real Brychford Simpkins is being held.”

“Should we go to the police immediately then?” asked Miss Watson.

Holmes shook his head. “We do not have enough proof yet. But we will find out more tonight!”

 

 

Once again Miss Watson and Holmes made their way across to the back of the vicarage but this time they remained silent, moving cautiously in the darkness. Eventually they reached the kitchen window. There were no lights on in the house. The suspect Simpkins had apparently retired.

“Will you be able to get in?” whispered Miss Watson as Holmes examined the window catch.

“The fastener is quite straightforward,” Holmes whispered back.

He put his mouth close to Miss Watson’s ear. “As we arranged, keep a watch for the local constable on his patrol. If he shows signs of coming towards the house to investigate, please blow your whistle and then remove yourself from the area as quickly as possible. I assure you I will be able to take care of myself.”

Miss Watson nodded and Holmes took out a small knife. He slipped the catch, opened the window and gingerly climbed inside.

Carefully he made his way across the kitchen and opened the door into the corridor. All seemed quiet and so, edging his way along, he found the stairs and quickly ascended to the attic bedroom. There he took out his set of skeleton keys and began trying to gain entrance.

The silence in which he worked was abruptly broken by a blast on the whistle.

“What’s that?” called a sleepy voice.

Holmes swore under his breath. He waited a moment, not daring to move but it seemed apparent Simpkins was not going to stir further.

As silently as possible, Holmes ran back down the stairs to the kitchen. He would not be able to look in the attic bedroom now but at least Simpkins hadn’t realised there was someone in the house with him.

Keeping close to the wall, Holmes glanced through the window to make sure it was safe to leave.

He looked out just in time to see Miss Watson being taken away by a police constable.

 

 

“My sister has been _arrested?!”_

It was seven the following morning and Holmes had come round to break the news of the night’s events.

“Now, Watson.” Holmes cautiously laid a hand on Watson’s shoulder. “Be calm.”

Watson shrugged Holmes off. “I will never forgive you for involving my sister in your breaking and entering!” He put his head in his hands. “The thought of my sister being treated as a common burglar...”

“Ah.”

Watson looked up at Holmes.

“Ah? _Ah?”_

“Well,” said Holmes not meeting Watson’s eye, “a woman on her own, loitering in the dark for no good reason. The police constable didn’t actually arrest her on suspicion of _burglary…”_

Watson stared. “Holmes,” he said carefully, “you’d better not be implying what I think you’re implying…”

Holmes gave a small shrug.

“I see.” Watson started for the hallway. “I’m going down to the station and getting this sorted out. You can stay here and explain the situation to Mary.”

But Holmes caught hold of his arm and stopped him.

“Please don’t. Your sister had naturally refused to give her name because she didn’t want to cause you any embarrassment and so, in the guise of a male acquaintance, I furnished the arresting officer with a fake one. Your turning up and giving her true details runs the risk of putting a permanent black mark against her reputation. And I had a discreet word with Inspector Lestrade as my true self—it’ll all be sorted out in a few days. ”

“A few—” Watson clenched his fists but then released them. “Well, then. If I have your word she will come to no harm.” Watson found the nearest chair and slumped down into it.

“There is something else,” said Holmes.

Watson looked steadily at him. “Oh, yes?”

“I also spoke to Lestrade about the case.” Holmes hesitated but then continued on. “You see, your sister and I had asked Simpkins to marry us tomorrow. We obviously had no intention of having the ceremony carried out but now I feel it would make an excellent distraction—allowing the police to search the vicarage thoroughly without putting the real Rev. Simpkins in any danger.”

Watson snorted. “It sounds ridiculous! And it’s a little difficult to have a wedding when your bride is in gaol!”

“So I shall need to find another bride.” Holmes looked at Watson. “Someone who resembles the other enough to pass for her under a veil.”

Watson waved his arms in frustration. “And how do you propose to do that?! Are you expecting another of my sisters to get here from Canada by tomorrow?”

Holmes raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinking of one of your sisters, no…”

Watson stared at Holmes.

Then his eyes widened.

 

 

Holmes, Watson, Inspector Lestrade, Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Hudson were all gathered together in the sitting room of 221B, Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson was sobbing quietly.

“Please, dear lady,” said Watson through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Hudson dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m so sorry, Doctor. You just look so lovely.” The sobbing began again.

“You do, John,” said Mrs. Watson, smiling as she arranged his skirts. She tugged at the bodice of his dress. “I wish I’d had just a little more time to work on the alterations. You and your sister do have slightly different measurements, you know.”

“Do I?” said Watson. “Good heavens.”

Mrs. Watson grinned, and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“I think you’ve done a marvellous job, Mrs. Watson,” said Lestrade. “I wouldn’t have recognised him.”

“I quite agree,” said Holmes. “Thank you so much for your hard work.”

Mrs. Watson beamed. “I’ll just go and fetch the flowers from Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen then.”

She left and Holmes walked slowly round Watson. “Yes, I think it’ll do. Midnight blue was an excellent choice—draws the attention away from the differences in the figure. And it suits you too.” He had reached Watson’s front again. “Are you sure you won’t shave off the moustache?”

Watson’s hands twitched. “Absolutely sure, yes.”

Holmes made a dismissive gesture. “No matter. The veil will obscure your face sufficiently—enough that your facial hair won’t be clearly seen, but it will just be possible to make out that distinctive profile you share with your sister.”

Mrs. Watson had now returned with two bouquets. Keeping the bridesmaid’s posy for herself, she solemnly handed the larger over to her husband.

Watson glared at her. “Thank you. _Dearest.”_ He turned to Holmes. “Now can we just get this farce over and done with before I stick this nosegay up somebody’s nose?”

Mrs. Hudson was still sniffling. “Oh, bless you—that’s just wedding day nerves.”

_“Mrs. Hudson!”_

“Yes,” said Holmes interrupting quickly. “It is perhaps time we got to the church.” He turned to Lestrade. “I take it Hopkins and his constables will be awaiting us there.”

Lestrade nodded. “Hopkins has agreed to take on the role of best man, and Bradstreet will be organising the search.”

“Excellent!” said Holmes. “Well then, I shall find a cab for Mrs. Watson and myself, and ask the page boy to find one for you and Watson. And we shall all reconvene at the church.”

Mrs. Watson looked at her husband with a suddenly nervous smile and he gave her a reassuring one in return. They embraced, and then she and Holmes exited, accompanied by Mrs. Hudson.

Watson and Lestrade were left together. They gave each other a quick glance and then both men returned to their own thoughts. Lestrade started absently humming _Here Comes the Bride_ but Watson gave him a hard stare and he stopped again.

There was a pause.

Lestrade cleared his throat. “You do have to admit though,” he said, “the dress is just your colour.”

Watson looked straight ahead and gripped his bouquet just a little more firmly.

 

 

It was a somewhat tense journey to the church for Watson and Lestrade, not helped by Lestrade automatically offering his hand to Watson to help him out of the cab.

“I can manage!” said Watson.

“Yes, of course, Doctor,” said Lestrade. He shuffled his feet though as Watson disembarked onto the pavement.

“What?”

“Shouldn’t I take your arm—as the father of the bride?”

“Oh… yes, I suppose so.”

Watson grudgingly accepted Lestrade’s proffered arm, and the two men entered the church linked together.

Just inside they found Hopkins and two constables sitting together. Lestrade leaned over to speak to his fellow inspector.

“I thought you were going to play the part of best man,” he said quietly.

“A minor change,” said Hopkins. “Bradstreet has been called to investigate a murder, so I have to take charge of the search.”

Watson looked down to the front of the church, where bridegroom, bridesmaid and best man were waiting. “But then who is that..?”

The best ‘man’ turned round.

“Agnes!”

Watson disengaged himself from Lestrade and strode off to the front of the church, the inspector trotting after him.

“Agnes!” he said again, as he reached his sister. “What are you doing in those clothes?!”

“Do keep your voice down, Watson,” said Holmes. “Our vicar is getting ready just behind that door.”

“Mr. Hopkins sorted it all out,” said Miss Watson. “Had me released and then found me this disguise.” She beamed. “I must admit I wouldn’t have liked to have missed the end of the adventure. I’ve never had so much fun before.”

“You’re my older sister!” said Watson. “You’re not supposed to have fun!”

“John, please!” said Mrs. Watson.

Watson patently had more to say on the subject but at this point the fake Simpkins came out and everyone had no choice but to slip back into character. Lestrade glanced over his shoulder at Hopkins, and he and his constables discreetly left the church.

Simpkins seemed somewhat nervous. “Is everyone ready then?” He looked at Holmes. “I’m afraid this will have to be a simple ceremony. You really gave me very little time to prepare.”

“We quite understand,” said Holmes.

Simpkins flipped through his missal.

“Er, Brychford, will you take Alice to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

‘Brychford’ gazed adoringly at ‘Alice’.

“I will.”

‘Alice’ glared at him.

Simpkins turned to Watson. “Alice, will you take Brychford to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

There was quite a long pause.

Simpkins glanced up at the bride, who was also getting a pointed look from the bridegroom.

Watson sighed. “Fine then: I will.”

Simpkins seemed a little taken aback. “Are you quite well, Miss Mercer? Your voice seems a little… gruff.”

Watson attempted to pitch his voice a little higher. “I am in excellent health, thank you. Do please carry on.”

“Ah, indeed.” Simpkins flipped through his missal trying to find his place.

“The vows?” suggested Holmes.

“Of course,” said Simpkins. He cleared his throat. “Repeat after me…”

“I know it, thank you.” Holmes took Watson’s hand in his. “I, Brychford, take thee, Alice, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

“And now the bride,” said Simpkins. “I, Alice…”

Watson glanced at his ‘bridesmaid’. “Thank you. Oddly enough, I know the vows too.”

He looked at Holmes. “I, Alice, take thee, Brychford, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to _obey…”_ He glared at Holmes. “…till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

“Er, right. Right. It’s the ring next, is it not..?” said Simpkins.

Miss Watson passed over the large wedding ring which had been purchased from a local pawnbroker’s. Simpkins passed it to Holmes, who solemnly placed it on Watson’s finger.

“And so I declare you husband and wife!” said Simpkins. “My congratulations.” He slammed his book shut and turned to leave them.

But just at this point, Hopkins returned. He cleared his throat. Lestrade turned, and Hopkins nodded and smiled.

“Right,” said Lestrade. He put out a hand and placed it on the false vicar’s arm. ‘Simpkins’ turned to face him in surprise.

“Please remain here, sir,” said Lestrade. “I am arresting you for the imprisonment of the real Rev. Simpkins.”

Simpkins looked completely thrown for a moment. But then he grabbed the nearest candlestick and brought it down hard on Lestrade’s arm.

The inspector yelled out in pain.

“Lestrade!” Watson threw up his veil.

Simpkins stared at him. But he soon recovered and swung the candlestick again—this time right at Watson’s head.

Watson fell stunned to the floor.

“John!” cried Mrs. Watson. She knelt beside him, attempting to rouse him.

“You fiend!” shouted Miss Watson.

Simpkins began running for the sacristy door, Miss Watson, Holmes and Lestrade close behind—Hopkins and the constables running out of the church in the hope of cutting off any escape.

The fugitive had almost made it to the door when Miss Watson threw herself at his legs and toppled him over. He attempted to rise and free himself but it was too late—Lestrade and Holmes were there to hold him in place.

They rose and pulled Simpkins to his feet.

“Miss Watson, “said Holmes, smiling at her, “you did marvellously.”

“Well, “said Miss Watson smoothing down her jacket, “the best man does always win.”

 

 

Watson was still somewhat groggy in the cab and so when they reached Baker Street, Holmes carried him over the threshold.

“I’ve changed my mind,” moaned Watson, keeping his eyes closed. “I’m going home to mother.”

Holmes and Mrs. Watson exchanged a look, and Miss Watson hid her smile behind both bouquets.

On seeing the doctor’s state, Mrs. Hudson insisted they all come into her parlour, rather than trying to get Watson up the stairs. Holmes carefully deposited Watson onto the settee, Mrs. Watson taking a chair beside him. Miss Watson put the flowers down on the nearby table and she and Holmes found a seat next to each other.

Watson struggled to sit up. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Baker Street, dear,” said Mrs. Watson, putting her hand gently on his cheek.

Holmes turned to Mrs. Hudson. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind going up to my rooms and fetching the brandy.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

She disappeared into the hall and they heard the sound of her letting someone else in before she continued up to 221B.

Lestrade appeared in the doorway, beaming in triumph.

“Ah, inspector! Do come in,” said Holmes. “What news?”

Lestrade entered. “The real Reverend Simpkins was found in the attic bedroom just as you thought,” he said. “Drugged but otherwise in perfect health.”

He rubbed his hands. “And our other Simpkins has made a full confession. We soon managed to identify him and he told us everything after that. His name’s Jack Lisle—he and an accomplice were behind that jewel robbery at Lord Backwater’s some years ago. Lisle was caught at the scene but the other man got clean away with the proceeds. Managed to get a scribbled note passed to Lisle though, saying where he’d stashed his half for him—a note simply saying “Buried St. Anne’s Vicarage”.

“There were signs of digging in the cellar,” said Holmes.

“Of course when the note was written, the place was deserted and falling down,” said Lestrade. “Lisle got out of prison and found it done up and a clergyman in the process of taking possession. However, the church wasn’t being used yet, so he took the chance of imprisoning the real Simpkins in the house for a few days while he dug up the cellar looking for the jewels. Lisle insists he hadn’t managed to find them though.”

“And he never would have found them,” said Holmes. “I imagine he was looking in the wrong place.”

Holmes turned to Miss Watson. “Do you remember the grave far too close to the kitchen window—the simple wooden cross?”

“Why, yes…” said Miss Watson.

Holmes looked back to Lestrade. “You’ll easily find it. It’s dedicated to the memory of Ruby and Beryl Diamond. I think Mr. Lisle’s accomplice had a sense of humour.”

“Of course,” said Miss Watson. “He didn’t mean he’d buried the jewels actually inside the vicarage—just on the edge of the graveyard nearest to the house.”

Holmes inclined his head. “The church and grounds were long abandoned. He must have assumed the jewels would be safe there.”

“I will organise a search at once!” said Lestrade.

He bowed cheerfully to the wedding party and took his leave.

Miss Watson beamed. “That was a most satisfactory end to our investigations.”

“Indeed!” said Holmes. “I thought it all went very well.” He smiled over at Watson. “You must let me know when your other sisters come to visit. I’m sure they would be most helpful in other cases.”

Watson stared at Holmes. His fists began clenching and unclenching.

“John,” said Mrs. Watson. “Dearest…”

 

 

Mrs. Hudson had found the brandy and was making her way downstairs once more.

As she drew nearer, she realised she could hear shouting, and she re-entered her parlour just in time to see the bride throw the bouquet.

“Good gracious,” said Mrs. Hudson. “It’s not traditional to aim it at the bridegroom’s head, is it?”


End file.
